


Flight of the Fletchling

by BombGirlPow



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 08:03:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11824488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BombGirlPow/pseuds/BombGirlPow
Summary: The Night King marches upon Winterfell, and Daenerys decides to take things within her own hands. Jon is desperate to protect her.This is my 3rd drabble for a Fortnight of Jonerys over on Tumblr. This prompt was submitted by @trueloveforeverbeautyandthebeast.*Contains some spoilers*





	Flight of the Fletchling

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys. For some reason my mind took off with me on this one. Hope you like It, and I apologize if there are any grammatical issues or mistakes. I

They had gathered in the Godswood, encircling Bran as he saw with eyes not of his own. Their situation had become ever more dire - a raven had landed at dawn, with news from Castle Black. The Night King had broken through The Wall, and was marching upon their location amassed with hundreds of thousands of the dead. 

They had led Bran at once towards the Heart Tree, his powers of foresight a blessing in a seemingly doomed world.

The boy’s usual stoic demeanor became agitated upon touching the Heart Tree’s bark. His fidgeting and furrowed brows a worrisome sight to all who had gathered, “No…” he let out a shallow breath, fearful towards sight they could not see. His breathing became laborious, “He...he has Viserion! Risen from the dead! He cracked the wall in two with an insidious blue flame…”

Daenerys’ hand shot up to cover her face as she held back a cry. Viserion! Her child! “No!” a scream tore from her throat, “No, It cannot be!” tears threatened to fall from her eyes white and hot, righteous fury consuming her. Jon stepped in to steady her, his own anger etched upon his features.

“How long Bran?” his voice low and dangerous. He had thought himself mentally prepared for this moment, as much as one could be, but the reality of it finally happening had washed over him like a sobering bucket of ice water. They had to scramble and fortify the castle, alert and arm the people, the soldiers, and call to form the bannermen and Dothraki into defensive ranks. 

“Not long. A dragon’s wings cut the time down more than half - though he lags slightly to lead the front of the horde. The dead do not slumber nor know any rest however - They approach us at high speed. They will be upon us come nightfall.” Jon’s face fell. It was far worse than he could've imagined. He thought he could've counted upon the massive swath of land between The Wall and Winterfell to buy him several days time once The Others broke through- but with Viserion on their side…

Jon looked towards his an Daenerys circle of allies. “You heard him! Tormund, Gendry - go forth and rally the men - let it be known that the hour we've dreaded has fallen upon us at last. Davos, take Jorah and verify that our defenses are up to par - as much as can be against Dragon’s fire-”

“It won't cut it…” Daenerys said quietly, just audible enough to stop the men in their tracks. She turned her head towards Jon, staunch determination and barely contained fury in her eyes. “Nothing but a dragon can meet another.” 

His eyes grew wide at what she was suggesting. “You...you can’t be serious. Dany you saw what the Night King did to Viserion. You can't risk it.”

She was having none of it however, “Meet me upon the battlements- we shall discuss this further there.” She turned towards the others, “You have heard the King dole out his commands. Do as he says- make us proud! We make our stand here, tonight!” 

As they dispersed, and before her and Jon could leave for the battlements, Bran reached out a hand to grab her by the arm, warning etched upon his words, “Avoid the blue flame. Do not let it strike Drogon - if a Dragon is fire made flesh, then a Dragon’s wight is the ultimate form of ice. They will cancel each other out and destroy themselves upon each other.”

Her eyes betrayed worry for the briefest of moments before she steeled herself and curtly nodded in response. She was determined in a way that Jon had yet to see before. As if resolving herself to a fate that may end poorly for her. He couldn't let this happen…

Moments later, upon the battlements, he decided to voice as such once again. “You can’t do this Dany! You know what the Knight King is capable of - you know what his ice spears can do once thrown-”

She reeled about, angry that he would question her resolve, “I do what I must! As a Queen should. There is no other way! You know this. Viserion will bear down the keep and tear it asunder! He will destroy everything you've ever known, everything you love, everything we’ve worked for!” 

He shook his head bitterly, and bit his lip in frustration. He had to make her understand ,”Dany this isn't the Lannister Army you’re facing down! This isn’t an air to land attack you propose. You have never done aerial combat upon dragonback! You have told me yourself that your skill is that of a novice in comparison to riders of old-”

“There's a chance I could dismount him! Drogon is by far larger-”

“A chance?! And you want me to just sit here and wait and accept that there's only a chance you might come back? And what of Rhaegal? I hear no mention of his name this whole time and it's starting to worry me that you mean to make this suicide mission with you and Drogon alone.”

She sucked in a breath of air, as if somewhat hurt, “I do not have the means to control two dragons at once…I don’t want to increase the likelihood of losing another one of my children...” she sounded defeated, as if she blamed Viserion’s death on herself. 

His brows furrowed, at a loss with exactly how to console her and make her see reason. He reached out, curling an arm about her waist, and pulled her into a tight embrace. Perhaps the last they were to ever share. Dany immediately buried her face into his cloak’s furs, and he could feel her take a deep breath of his scent in.

“Don't…” he struggled to choke back his emotions and steady his voice, “Don't leave me here...after everything that has happened...Dany I can't do this without you. You're the only thing…” he shook his head as if to shake it free of nightmares and settled to press his brow against her own, “I can't lose you…”

She pulled him down to meet her lips and kissed him tenderly, desperate to show him everything that she held in her heart towards him. Desperate to make him understand that this very well may be goodbye, and that he was worth It - worth everything, worth the sacrifice and the suffering - worth coming to this doomed country at all. 

“I have to go…” she whispered into his lips, and pulled away. 

Daenerys turned her back on him, and stalked off towards the edge of the battlements. She met her hand to her lips and let out a shrill whistle.

Off in the distance, Drogon’s roar boomed across Winterfell, like thunder answering the call of lightning. The big black dread appeared from beyond the clouds, ready to heed his mother’s command. As he grasped the jutting stone of the keep and leveled himself out so Dany could climb on top, she turned back towards Jon, a sad smile playing upon her face, “If I am to fall, do not let my death be in vain.” She smirked, an odd spark of mischief battling with the dread in her eyes, “The Iron Throne will be yours, Aegon. I'm leaving it to you. It belongs to our family after all. Don't you dare lose it.” 

He choked out something between a laugh and a shuddering cry to hear her utter such nonsense and make light of the situation. It was the first time she had called him by his truename. She was crazy. And he loved her. He really loved the foolish, daft, infuriating woman. “Aye...I’ll keep it warm for you until you get back.”

She nodded, satisfied, and climbed atop Drogon’s waiting form. In the blink of an eye, they were off, taken to the sky on the beat of two massive, deafening wings. 

“She actually fookin’ went! A Mad Queen indeed, but in all the right ways.” Tormund and Davos had appeared, just in time to see Dany’s departing form upon dragonback. 

“Aye but if she falls that'll be another dragon for the army of the Undead. She has one shot at this, but it was good of her to take the battle away from the keep to avoid unnecessary friendly fire.” Davos added, somewhat hopeful. 

“It's not going to be enough…not with the Night King.” Jon said almost to himself, unable to tear his eyes off of her until Drogon’s form retreated above the clouds once again. “I have to do something.”

“Forgive me my King, but what exactly can you do?” Davos said, somber, yet kindly. He knew how Jon felt about Daenerys, and hoped upon all else that she would return. 

Jon ignored him, eyes still searching the sky. An idea formed in his head -an absolutely insane, stupid, dangerous thought. If he could somehow call down Rhaegal…

He had little interaction with the dragon in the past. Of the three it had seemed the most illusive - intent upon hunting and exploring the lands in its surroundings rather than socializing. 

“Come on…” Jon whispered as if in prayer, hoping with every fiber of his being that he could figure a way for his will to be known by the remaining dragon. He knew they were incredibly intelligent creatures, and that Daenerys had some sort of mind link between them. Perhaps it was not unlike his and Ghost’s own peculiar relationship…

Tormund interrupted his focus, “Oy Jon, she isn’t coming back! We have to go! You need to-”

He raised a hand to silence the large man, eyes still scraping the clouds desperately. He had to try…

Davos shot Tormund a curious glance, at a loss with the King’s peculiar behavior. The red haired man rolled his eyes in response. They didn't have time for any of this. 

Jon’s frustration only grew, at a loss with how Dany had such control over the beasts. She made it look so easy...natural, effortless...He closed his eyes, brows knitting in desperation. Perhaps it was all a farce. That it took more than just blood to bind the creatures...that he would have to accept it if Dany were to...if she…

A blood curdling shriek resonated across the clouds - dragon’s roar reverberating deep within the chests of all within the holdfast. A flash of green cut the sky, contrasting sharply with the grey saturation of winter. Rhaegal arched gracefully towards them, great claws the size of tree trunks stretched to clasp hold to the side of the the wall. 

“Holy fookin’ shite! Where the fook did this beastie come from?!”

Jon steadied himself, working quickly to replace his own fear with purpose. He approached Rhaegal, the namesake of his father, and held out a hand for it to inspect. The dragon was curled in on itself, clearly wary of Jon, tilting a giant curious eye in his direction. Perhaps it was just as surprised as Jon was that it had heeded the call at all, bound by some sort of invisible bond that was impercievable. 

“Jon...what’re you? Are you sure-” Davos stuttered, bewildered towards his King’s insane behavior. 

“Rhaegal…” Jon’s hand gently met the green scales, near scalding hot in contrast to the severe cold snap fast descending upon them. “Please…” he whispered, “we have to help your mother…” He studied the dragon for any sort of understanding. 

It momentarily seemed passive towards his pleas, gazing just as curiously between Davos and Tormund, and sniffed the air as if in thought. Strange to see such human emotion play upon such an inhuman face.

Rhaegal lowered it's massive head, curiosity sated, and complied with what was raging on in Jon’s mind. The King huffed out a shaky breath of air. This was stupid. He couldn't believe he was doing this. Suicide missions to capture a wight, coming back from the dead...riding dragons must be the next course of action of impossible deeds. Of course. 

Tormund clambered over Davos to voice his bewilderment, “Are you fookin’ daft!? Are you really climbing the giant flying set of fookin teeth right now?!”

Jon agreed with the Wilding’s assessment. Yes. He was daft. He was absolutely insane. 

“I have to make sure she survives! I have to make sure the Night King doesn't get his hands on another dragon. Two against one is the only way to place the odds in our favor. Davos! Work with Jorah and Tyrion to hold the walls while im gone.” 

Davos sputtered, equally uncomfortable with his King’s course of action, “You don't know what you're doing! This is...Jon I can’t-”

“You can and you will.” He commanded, settling upon Rhaegal’s great green back. Where was he to hold on again? How did Dany make this look so easy? He hunkered down into a comfortable enough position, attempting to mimic the Dragon Queen’s positioning. If Rhaegal was uncomfortable with his heavyfooted movements, the dragon didn't show it.

The men atop the wall looked lost, mouths slack and faces stupified. “You're a mad man Jon Snow!” Tormund cried, voice a mixture of outrage and respect. “With balls rivaling the size of the gods themselves!”

Davos interjected, always attempting to play the part of the reasonable man. “Jon are you sure-”

“Aye. I am. I suppose if I'm a damn Targaryen I ought to play the part. Keep Arya and Sansa safe.” No more words. No more time for that. No time for thinking and postulating what ifs. Now was the time for action. She was out there and she needed him. 

For the second time that morning, great wings beat upon cold air, leaving Winterfell without dragons.


End file.
